Journal of the Dragonborn
by apheline
Summary: This tale follows the adventures of Apheline, a Redguard, who struggles with her past as well as with her present situation of becoming the Dragonborn in Skyrim, a land of bitter cold and harsh terrain. It is presented in a journal type format. It will cover a playthrough of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim as well as some mods, which I feel work with the Lore of the game.


I have barely escaped with my life.

I woke to find myself in a strange land in the back of a cart, hands bound. It wasn't long before I found out that I had stumbled into a civil war of some kind. I had been captured along with a group of rebels known as Stormcloaks. Their enemies, the Imperials, seem to have forbidden the worship of their prime deity, which has caused, at least in part, the recent rebellion.

As the cart made its way through the town - Helgen, I have since learned it is called - I heard the whispers of a father telling his young child to head inside. Whatever was to happen to us, it was not to be seen by the faint of heart. My memory raced. Was I a part of this rebellion? I knew not. I couldn't remember anything before waking up in the cart. Listening to the others talk, I learned that one of the other prisoners claimed to not be with the Stormcloaks, either, but had stolen a horse. Perhaps I was with him? But no, he didn't seem to know me from the others.

Eventually, the cart came to a stop and I found myself being forced in front of two of our Imperial captors. One of the men, the one who wasn't a Stormcloak, shouted that very thing, before trying to run away. The man didn't make it far before the archers took him down. Shot in the back. A coward's death. I guess that's a fitting enough end for a horse thief, but it seemed like slaughter with his hands tied behind him. What sort of place is this where a man is executed for stealing a horse?

" Who are you?" one of the Imperials asked me, the guards going to retrieve the other prisoner's body. My mind strained as I tried to recall. The harder I searched for it, the more the word seemed to slip out of reach. The man became impatient. "What is your name?"

" Apheline," I said. The name - my name - finally came to me, pouring out of my mouth like water over the brim of a too-full cup. It seemed that as soon as I had given up on it, it had come out of its own will.

The events after that are a blur, not as foggy as the events before it, but difficult to track in the way that each footfall on a walk is hard to distinguish from the last. There was the adrenaline of being led to the chopping block, seeing the head of the man before me as it rested in the bucket, the coppery smell of fresh blood on wood. I didn't want to touch the blood, but the executioner held my head onto the block.

There had been a shriek; an otherworldly sort of sound. But it seemed that even that would not stop the proceedings. The axe rose above the executioner's head, a massive thing, the muscles in the executioner's arms strained to lift it. The sun glinted off the axehead.

And then another shriek. A woman shouted to the sentries for a report, but it was too late. I saw it; a dragon on the turret, just behind the executioner. Then all was chaos.

I pried the executioner off me. He had fallen - no, he had been pushed by some sort of force which came from the dragon. I got myself to my feet. There was fire everywhere and the line between friend and foe became weaker than the line between mortal and dragon. I was helped by a Stormcloak and then by an Imperial before finally escaping through the dungeons below the city with one of the men I had found myself captive with only an hour before.

The path was difficult; Imperials tried to kill us and we had to make our way through torture chambers. I dont know anything, or at least I cant remember anything, about the civil war here, but I will tell you this: some of the things I saw in those dungeons no one deserves, no matter what crime they may have committed or what side of a conflict they might have found themselves on.

I sit now on a rock, in the forest, outside a cave which we made our way through to escape the dungeons, which had begun to collapse under the weight of the dragon above. I feel that it is important to write down what is happening, in case my memory goes again. I will write more later. My companion, a Stormcloak, has suggested we go see his sister in a nearby villiage called Riverwood. She runs a mill there. It was good to have a rest and collect my thoughts now that we've seen the dragon fly off into the distance. Somehow, I dont think I've seen the last of him.


End file.
